


something wicked

by glimmerkeith



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, spoopy and then some
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-09 19:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16455998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glimmerkeith/pseuds/glimmerkeith
Summary: Art student Klaus doesn't have any other plans for this Halloween party than to enjoy himself--and a dark, mysterious stranger on the scene can certainly help with that.





	something wicked

**Author's Note:**

> helllooo all! it's been some time since i've posted any work of any length at all, but an aimless, sort-of spicy, sort of-fluffy, sort of-~spooky~ fic for the holiday was just what the doctor ordered. i love halloween. i love klaus/george. a match made in heaven. overall, it's just meant to be a fun little fic, and i hope that's how it goes over. many thanks to my pal gigi for mentioning the vampire!george idea and getting me started on this too :’)
> 
> thanks for reading, and happy halloween!

It could never be something as simple as just a night of “going out,” certainly not where Astrid was concerned, and definitely not when every club in town was throwing their annual Halloween bash. Klaus wasn’t convinced that his friend didn’t keep the spirit of the holiday alive and well year-round with her perchance for candles, wearing black, and all things related to the occult—but in October, she got to take it all a step further.

“You look _fab,”_ She told Klaus now, applying a final swipe of makeup to his face and stepping back to examine him in the fluorescent light of her kitchen. “The blue liner is so good with your eyes. And thank god you know how to apply your own makeup, Stu’s absolutely hopeless.”

Astrid herself was wearing no less than half a shop of cosmetics on her face now, the better to pull off her look as Sally from _The Nightmare Before Christmas_. Both Klaus and their friend, Jurgen, had protested on the grounds of it being a cliché, but they were outvoted by the other two and Jurgen’s girlfriend. So Tim Burton it was.

Stuart, not the tallest person but lanky enough, naturally made the perfect Jack to go with his girlfriend’s Sally. It had been determined that the other three could be Lock, Shock, and Barrel, but Jurgen and Chloe had skipped town at the last minute, leaving Klaus to go alone as the little devil character in a now-trio of one. Fantastic.

“It looks enough like what _I_ originally had in mind for Halloween,” Klaus teased her, examining his face in a hand mirror she provided. Perhaps not a lot of people would have recognized a character from the 1920 German silent film, _The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari,_ but he would have at least looked appropriately ghoulish. But this look, he determined with another dab of setting powder, was close enough—even if he _was_ destined to be playing the third wheel to the world’s most nauseatingly cute couple most of the time.

“Are we ready to go? The Uber’s outside,” Stu stuck his dark head into the kitchen, his face now painted like a skeleton’s. Astrid quickly plucked up the dark red wig for her costume and placed it over her short blonde hair. Her boyfriend smiled at the sight.

“You make for a good redhead, Astrid. And you look amazing. I mean, you always do—”

“Oh lord, spare me,” Klaus mock-groaned, grabbing his jacket before he elbowed his way past Stu and out the door. “At least wait until I’ve got a few drinks in me.”

“Oh, we’re getting more than a few tonight,” Astrid grinned as she took Stu’s hand, and the three of them trooped outside and into the chilly night towards the waiting car. When they all got settled in the backseat, Astrid turned to nudge Klaus, her eyebrows quirked.

“Who knows? Maybe you’ll find someone special tonight, Klausi. You are looking _quite_ naughty.”

***

It was the weekend before Halloween night, and the club was celebrating accordingly. There were people there without costumes, but they were decidedly outnumbered. Changing lights flashed colors across a wide variety of masks, makeup, face paint, the whole nine—almost like an echo of the masquerade balls of the past. The anonymity made it all the more intriguing.

Naturally, Stu and Astrid wasted little time in hitting the dance floor, quickly lost from Klaus’ view in the sea of bodies. That was more than fine with him, content to knock back a few drinks at the bar before scanning the room. A couple people caught his eye, several smile, but his eyes flicked past them all and land on a stranger all in black, leaning against the bar on the opposite side.

He was all skin and bones, lanky legs in black pants and a mop of brown hair that looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in a long while. He wasn’t dressed up, there was, perhaps, nothing extraordinarily arresting about him at first—but then he looked up, met Klaus’ gaze, and there was something in those dark eyes, reflecting the flashing colors of the dance floor, that got him to pause.

It was like any moment of electricity shared between two strangers. Klaus gave an almost shy, sort of fleeting smile before he turned his head away…he could be forward if he had to, but no harm in testing the waters first. After a few seconds, he peeked back over his shoulder, and the spot where his target stood was now empty.

Perplexed, he glanced back around, and then nearly started backwards—his query was now leaning against the bar near him instead. Closer up, he could see how his eyes were framed with almost impossibly thick, dark lashes.

“’Lo,” The stranger smiled, showing unusually sharp teeth. “I like the look, whatever it’s supposed to be.”

“I had the original idea scrapped for that reason alone,” Klaus pulled a fake, good-natured grimace. “Would you have known who Cesare from _Dr. Caligari_ was instead?”

“Maybe. That’s a good film. Very…appropriate for the season, yeah?”

“Very.” He couldn’t help it—he liked that craggy smile. And he knew so few people outside of his film courses at uni who could name a single film from 1920. He decided to turn the tables, already fairly positive of the answer he would get. “What about you, then?” Klaus asked, gesturing to the all-black ensemble.

“Are you supposed to be anyone?”

“Oh, me…I’m a vampire,” And he grinned, baring those impressive, almost fang-like teeth again. Even when his mouth closed, one of the canines poked out a little, a feature Klaus found oddly…cute.

“Of course you are,” He said nonchalantly, but his so-called vampire companion had evidently had enough chit-chat.

“Are we going to stand around and gab all night? Or d’you want to go dance?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” He took the hand that was offered to him, and then brought up something else. “My name’s Klaus, by the way.”

“George.” And he led him out onto the swirling lights of the dance floor, turning to face him, so their bodies could sway together.

For a short time, they were hardly touching so much as moving in the same close space, not an inch of them connected yet. George’s eyes fluttered close, arms lifted over his head, and Klaus caught a glimpse of flat, smooth stomach as his shirt hiked up a little. It might have been something of that flash of bare skin that inspired him to move forward, bumping their hips together, and a pleased sort of grin skittered across George’s face as he returned the gesture.

This was hardly Klaus’ first time dancing with a new person at a club, but there was something different about this. He didn’t want this to end, this spell holding over him to break. George hooked his fingers in his belt loops, pulling him to him, bodies flush together.

The first, most startling thing Klaus noticed was just how oddly cold those fingers on him felt. Pressed nearly to his chest, the thin material of George’s shirt wasn’t quite enough to conceal how the rest of him was the same way. Considering the mass of sweat-slicked, heated bodies moving all around them, and how much they’d danced together already, it was markedly strange—but the thought of that was soon all but blown away when George’s hands started exploring, roaming over him.

Klaus moved his hands up from his chest to twine in the thick chestnut hair instead, anchoring him to him. His eyes closed, as if the better to utilize the other senses, he felt rather than saw cool fingers trace over his face, and then, a mouth just barely gliding over the column of his neck.

It was hard to articulate what he was feeling now, but the lightning-hot sensation broiling through his body that had only something to do with the alcohol he’d had still nudged him on. When one song ended, the bass pounding away into nothing, he let one of his hands drift down to grip George’s hip.

“What do you say…we get out of here? My flat isn’t far.”

That was all it took. He didn’t see Stu or Astrid on the way out, but he didn’t much care about that—or anything, really, except getting home. They would likely be able to put two and two together anyway, and Astrid would gleefully text him in the morning.

The poor cabbie must have suffered taking them home, because the two in the backseat could hardly keep their hands off of each other. Klaus couldn’t entirely stifle an audible cry when George’s hand came down to squeeze him, and he could sense the grin against his hair. He had never, not in this moment, wanted anyone or anything so badly.

True to his art student self, the flat Klaus rented out was as spacious as it could be, the better to make room for all his canvases and paintings. In a studio like this, there was really only one big room, the kitchen space leading right into a sort of sitting area and finally the bed. Still, they very nearly didn’t make it there.

But when they did, it was everything Klaus could have possibly desired and more, lost in a swirling black night.

***

The alarm clock read 6:17 when movement nearby roused him out of his sleep. Blearily, Klaus blinked and then lifted his head off the pillow, trying to squint and see in the relative darkness of the room—the sun hadn’t even come up yet. George was getting up, sliding his shirt back on, head poking out even more tousle-haired from the top.

“…trying to sneak off?” Klaus asked groggily, but growing more alert as he propped himself up on his elbows. He’d had people who didn’t want to linger after one night together, sure, but they’d at least waited until he was properly awake to cut out. This almost seemed a touch crass.

“No, it’s…it’s not like that,” George said apologetically, almost ruefully, as he turned his head to look back at him. “I just…I have to be somewhere. That’s all.”

It sounded like a lie, and Klaus’ stupid heart couldn’t help but sink just a little. He’d been planning to chuck him as soon as he could. “Well…” He said flatly. “Don’t let me keep you, then.”

“I was going to leave you a note.” Surprisingly, George sat down beside him, and those cold fingers reached out to touch him again, to glide down his shoulder blades. “That was…’mazing, last night.” His hand caught his jaw, thumb lightly resting in the cleft of Klaus’ chin. “And you’re beautiful. D’you know that?”

Somewhat gratified, Klaus turned his head so he could press a quick kiss to those nearby fingers. “Not…not like you.” And he meant it, having seen the whole picture now—he’d never seen anyone before with skin so smooth, without any freckles unlike his own, and those cheekbones, frankly, spoke for themselves. His was such a striking face, under different circumstances, Klaus might have asked if he could sketch him.

George almost smiled at that, but his face was tinged with a kind of feeling—almost like sadness—that was hard to put a finger on. “Thank you for last night. But I really do have to go.”

He wouldn’t try and press him on that much, at least…but he’d be damned if he let this one truly slip away for good. “Well, can I…at least get your number, then?”

To Klaus’ honest surprise, George pulled a faint grimace. “I don’t have a cell phone. Modern technology—I can’t make heads or tails of it, honestly. I guess I ought to take the time for it, but…I haven’t yet. Funny, that.” And he made a wry sort of half-smile, as if laughing at a joke only he knew that wasn’t particularly funny at that.

“Then...how—?”

“I’ll find a way.” And George ducked his head, pressing one last parting kiss to his lips. It was tempting then, to try and pull him down, entice him to stay for a little longer, but Klaus settled for bracing himself with a hand against his chest—and after a brief heartbeat of time, just as George was pulling away again, he realized with a jolt that he hadn’t felt one under his palm.

There had been no heartbeat, no steady thud or rising of the chest, the simple and most surest sign that someone was alive. But no, Klaus’ skittering thoughts told him, he must have just missed it somewhere, there was no way—no way he didn’t have one at all.

George finally got up and headed for the door—if he noticed the suddenly baffled look on Klaus’ face, he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he looked towards the canvases hanging on the wall. “These are good, y’know. You’re good.”

And then he was gone, slipping out the door so quietly it was almost more like a shadow.

Klaus sat up, rubbed his eyes, blinked twice—but no, he was really gone, almost like he hadn’t been there at all. And where normally he could hear footsteps going down the stairs outside his flat, there was no sound at all.

Mentally confused, emotionally compromised, but physically, still more than sated from last night, Klaus swung his legs out of bed and staggered into his bathroom to give his face a wash. There was no point now, he thought, feeling oddly numb as he splashed water on his face, in moping about it—that was the very nature of one-night stands. You spent a brief amount of time together, and then it was over, never to be addressed again.

That had never bothered him as much as it did now.

When he looked up at his reflection in the mirror, Klaus froze, eyes widening…and then his fingers came to land on the purple-ish bruise rising on his neck. He knew what a hickey looked like, but this looked like an extreme version of one, and peering closer…

Yes, those were two faint but still visible marks like sharp canine teeth, almost like a puncture wound. He could recall, somewhere in all the fog of it, that George’s lips had found his neck and there had been a moment of sharp, jagged half-pain cutting through it all, intensifying it somehow—

Klaus let his hand drop, staring at his own confused face. The bite mark, the freezing skin…and he’d left so early today, before the sun was even up—

 _“Oh, me…I’m a vampire.”_ And there had been no heartbeat.

He had to sit down on the edge of his bed then, dismissing the moment as a burst of craziness. He was losing it, surely, perhaps he’d had something stronger to drink last night than he had thought—because this didn’t make any sense. Klaus seriously hadn’t entertained the thought, even for half a bizarre moment, that George was…that he’d really not only encountered but actually slept with…

No. George’s mannerisms were a little strange, but he couldn’t entertain these mad thoughts any more—he was gone now anyway, he reminded himself glumly, it didn’t much matter either way. Halloween was soon over, and so was this one night.

Or at least he kept thinking as much, until two weeks later when he found a neatly folded-up note in his mailbox, and with it, a ticket to see a screening of _Nosferatu_ at a nearby cinema. Klaus didn’t recognize the surprisingly elegant, curling handwriting, but then, he didn’t really need to.

_I’m sure you’ve seen this one a dozen times before. I still like it, if only just to laugh a little—if not at ourselves, then who? I’d love to see you again. Guess I know you’ll answer either way._

A thrill ran up his spine not unlike the chill of a cool fall breeze, and Klaus flipped the ticket over to check the date. He’d promised Astrid he’d go with her to a friend’s art exhibit that night, but now…well, she’d understand. At the drop of a hat, plans changed.

 

 


End file.
